


...bloody morons

by krav



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Crowley and Sam hate each other's guts, M/M, POV Crowley, Penis Size, UST, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-09 17:10:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7810297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krav/pseuds/krav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five-minute exchange during which Crowley manipulates and harasses the Winchester brothers</p><p>No sex. Ships are implied by untrustworthy characters. The entire purpose of this exercise was to make gauche meta observations from Crowley’s POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	...bloody morons

"Unchain me, you little fuckwit!" Crowley bellows at the top of his lungs. He's not particularly ruffled, but sometimes yelling brings the fairer Winchester into the... Well, they only call this a dungeon. More of a closet, really.

Moose narrows his eyes at the outburst. Honestly, if it weren't for Dean, Crowley wouldn't give an inch to his halfwit of a brother. But when Dean stumbles in, half awake—and sometimes half-dressed—to mete out a little "discipline"... well, that makes it all worthwhile, doesn't it?

Just the morning previous, Sam had been foolish enough to come in alone, and Crowley had bitten him. He'd yelled out in pain, and Dean had come running, freshly showered and wearing only boxer briefs, whose wet, black fabric did nothing to hide the sinful roundness of his ass. His torso, ruddy from the hot water and a little sun, carved in the kind of shapely thickness that comes from manual labor and eating heartily. Hard, green eyes that say he isn't embarrassed to be seen naked. Full lips twisted into a frown. Crowley isn't the praying type, but he'd—

He blinks, jerked rudely out of an extremely fond memory by the look in Sam's eyes. It's a nasty, narrow look, evaluatory, then, with a quirk of his brow, triumphant. Crowley scowls. 

"Plotting something, are we?" Crowley keeps his voice dismissive, hoping to trick the brute into giving away his game plan. He cannot reveal how unnerved he was, seeing triumph cross Sam's face. 

Moose narrows his eyes. Then, tension eases from his brow and he smirks. 

Crowley hates that smirk: the littlest Winchester, acting like he's tremendously well-hung. The worst part is, Dean buys it. Trick Moose, you've hoodwinked what remains of the Winchester clan.

Convenient as he is, Crowley despises the bastard.

"You're bluffing," he sneers. "Exactly what am I supposed to be afraid of? More torture? What you lads fail to consider is that pain is the height of my day."

Moose narrows his eyes further. "You like it when Dean's in here, don't you?"

Crowley waves a hand, shackles clanking merrily, and ignores _that_ assertion. "If you wanted to kill me you'd have done it already," he continues unperturbed. "Face it, Moose: you've got no leverage."

Sam lunges forward, seizing Crowley by the lapels (filthy beyond dry cleaning, thanks to this ridiculous operation) and looms over him. Crowley isn't intimidated by Sam's size, of course—he's a demon. He's inhabited bigger men in the past, but frankly they gave him vertigo.

Instead of punching him, Sam smiles unkindly. "You like _watching_ my brother, don't you?"

Crowley doesn't know what the boy's playing at, but when dealing with a simple mind, he finds directness most effective. Arching an eyebrow, and with more than a hint of rebellion, he quips, "What can I say? Dean's pretty."

Unfortunately, Sam's smile widens in response: "Thought so." Without further ado, he goes to the dungeon's hidden doors and calls out, "Hey Dean, you still in the library?"

Sure enough, Dean bolts in at the sound of his brother's voice. He regards Crowley with suspicion, but addresses Sam. "What's he done this time?"

"Oh Dean," Crowley taunts lightly. "Always ready to defend baby brother and bark threats at the nasty demon."

"You shut your mouth," Dean commands harshly. The effect is ruined, however, by the proprietary way Sam grabs Dean's hips, restraining him.

"Boys, boys. Getting a little handsy—?" Dean shoves Sam away, but flushes hotly. He doesn't meet Crowley's eyes.

Crowley's stomach drops. Could it be that the rumors about them are true? He's spent a good deal of time around them, some of which they weren't aware, and never actually witnessed any incest—just maudlin sentimentality.

He keeps his voice even. "Honestly, Dean, I haven't had a chance to be naughty today."

Sam scoffs. "Liar."

"All right, Sam, enlighten me," Dean says flatly. To Crowley's amusement, Dean seems immensely irritated with his brother.

"He called you pretty," Sam reports, as if it's significant. 

It _can't_ be.

Crowley quirks an eyebrow, professional mask still in place. "Jealous? Or don't you two lummoxes express your feelings enough these days?"

Dean ignores him. "So what?" His voice grows loud with exasperation: "he's a demon, Sam! Insulting us, trying to get under our skin. Come on, man, that's what they _do!_ "

Suddenly he's pleading a little too much, and Crowley is reminded forcefully of Lucifer's whore from the Supernatural books. He never crossed streams with Ruby, personally, (different departments) but he wonders if he should inform Sam that she was a man in her previous life.

Dean's telling his brother, "you know how to deal with this crap!"

"Do share with the class," Crowley chimes in, even though Sam and Dean re getting lost in one another's eyes, blah blah.

The right hook comes out of nowhere, considering how Dean was facing the opposite direction not a second ago.

Crowley inhales blood while Dean turns back to his brother. "Punch him in the face," he says more calmly, clapping a companionable hand on Sam's shoulder. 

Sam looks at Crowley over Dean's shoulder, eyes hard. "Dean... I think he wants you to do it."

"Oh, for the love of—We don't give demons what they want, Sam!"

"Yeah, well the torture didn't work, Dean." Sam has turned his brick-wall stare back on his brother.

"Listen to Moose," Crowley advises, eager to see how this plays out. 

Dean turns to regard him over his shoulder. His eyes convey nothing but hostility.

Crowley holds Dean's gaze. "I am—first and foremost—a businessman," he points out, and that does the trick. Dean's eyes widen, making him look lost. He licks his lips, then purses them, going for tough but only managing to emphasize the shiny fullness of his mouth.

After a moment, he whirls on Sam. "What are you suggesting?"

Sam gives his brother a heated, intimate look that puts butterflies in Crowley's stomach. Instantly, he realizes he's misinterpreted the dynamic between them. The pieces rearrange themselves into sensible order, and he sees a standoffish air helps them focus on work; Dean bosses Sam around to disguise how helpless he is when it comes to saying no to his brother; but that's not all, is it? Sam called Dean in here because he wants concrete proof that Dean's his, even though he shouldn't need it, the stupid git. And neither of them knows how to escape the other.

Love—they're in love. The human blood in Crowley's veins churns with sympathy, and his skin crawls.

Simultaneously he realizes his role in all of this: he's to bear witness to some carnal reaffirmation of devotion. Honestly, they should just get him cable.

Crowley tries to convince himself that he doesn't mind (actually, even the straight porn he watches involves sodomy) but it's not working. Sam and Dean are busy staring into each other's eyes like they've done the nasty before, like they negotiate terms nonverbally. Crowley can understand Sam's attraction to his brother easily enough: daddy issues, surrogate mother figure, all very Oedipal. What he simply cannot fathom is why Dean would spread his legs for his nitwit of a brother. Frankly, it's making him mad. And when he's mad, he doesn't think straight.

"I think what Sam's suggesting is that you blow me," he says, keeping his tone offhand.

Sam gives Crowley a sharp look. "Keep dreaming." 

Dean starts, taking a step away from his brother and to the door, turning so that his back is to the wall and Crowley and Sam are both in his line of vision. His tone is deceptively casual: "All right, enough of the crap. Either one of you tells me what the hell's going on, or you two can psychoanalyze each other while I go back to watching Miss America."

"All right," Crowley sighs, "here's the skinny."

Dean sets his jaw and narrows his eyes.

"Really, Dean? You're waiting for Moose to summarize things for you? If you think that'll happen sometime in the next decade, then by all means."

Sam makes an indignant noise.

Dean eyes him with suspicion. "Go on," he says to Crowley.

"First, the two of you have been, shall we say, less than brotherly."

Sam and Dean stare at him blankly.

Crowley sighs again: bloody provincial Americans. "With each other, in the—in the  _bedroom!_ Do I have to spell everything out for you?" He watches for confirmation, and there it is: Sam averts his eyes, Dean flushes and rubs the back of his neck.

Crowley decides to gloat a little. "Sam shoved his little bitty prick up Dean's—" 

"All right!" Dean roars, interrupting. "We get it! You think we're screwing!"

"Second," Crowley intones, all smug superiority now that he knows he's on the right track, "there's been trouble in paradise lately. I'm guessing this has to do with a certain vampire..."

"How the hell do you know about Benny?" Dean growls defensively.

Crowley smiles. "I have my sources. Third, whatever sinful connection you two shared has been severed, which means longing glances from Moose and feelings of betrayal from Squirrel..."

Dean appeals to his brother. "Are you listening to this crap?!"

"Face it, Dean," Crowley interjects sardonically, "You always feel betrayed."

"Maybe that's because you kill people we care about, you son of a bitch!"

"Temper, Dean. If you think about it, who have I killed that you were really attached to?"

"What about that time you went around killing the people we'd saved?" he gestures between himself and his brother, and Crowley sighs internally as he watches solidarity grow between them.

He feigns pluck: "Ah, but were you really close to any of them?"

"You killed Sarah," Sam says.

It's Crowley's turn to narrow his eyes, thinking about Dean, and how he's made himself available to his brother right from the start—Carver Edlund might have edited out a few of the network-unfriendly details, but Dean's pining is still clear as day, even as Sam chases Jessica's ghost. Oblivious bastard. Frankly, if Dean weren't such a bloody rube himself, he'd realize how narrow-minded his little brother can be. Sam may love Dean, but Dean doesn't fit in his picket-fence fantasy, does he?

"Wait your turn, Moose. The adults are talking."

Sam's lips thin to a narrow white line. Crowley ignores his fury: it's justifiable, at worst. "Dean, I may have killed a couple _acquaintances_... and a few distant relatives whom you didn't like... but I also checked in on Moose while you were away in Purgatory. He left himself and darling Amelia wide open. Didn't even lay salt lines across their windowsill at night."

Sam looks stricken. Good.

"Now if I really wanted to betray  _you_ , Dean, then Jolly Green over there wouldn't be breathing. Comprende?"

Dean casts a hurt look at his brother before returning his attention to Crowley. "Why are you telling me this?"

"The both of you have been a thorn in my side for _years_."

Dean isn't impressed. "So?"

" _So_ , I smuggled a gun into his bedroom one night and he didn't even stir. I could have put two bullets between his eyes before he lifted his shaggy head!" Crowley pauses a moment to rein in his temper, then continues: "So I'm thinking your grudge against me has very little to do with fact, and more to do with frustration at always being one step behind the current story arc. Conspiracies, what have you. But all that could change, if we pooled our interests—"

Moose bristles.

"You rein in your dog," Crowley nods at Dean's brother, "and we can be allies, you and I."

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. "Not gonna happen. You're a demon, Crowley, which means we—" he gestures at Crowley and then himself "—are never gonna be on the same side."

Crowley sighs. "Pity."

He might be imagining it, but Dean's eyes soften a little. "Anyway, look where you are, man."

Crowley twists his ankle in the warded cuff, and nods. Unfortunately, he's human enough, and he likes Dean enough that he can't stand to watch this whole mess unfold, so he goes on.

"Fourth, in order to re-establish your sexual connection, as well as any spiritual mumbo jumbo you lot believe in, Sam wants you to give in—prove your allegiance, as it were."

"Dean," Sam warns.

Crowley speaks faster. "Only you won't like what he has in mind."

Dean's scowling, but Crowley can tell he has his attention.

"Here's the deal. For a limited time, I'll give you names—"

"And in return?"

"You don't suck up to the bastard. Stop bending over backwards. Have a little self-respect, for chrissake. Or, if you won't, then you can blow me, as your brother suggested earlier."

Sam looks mutinous. "You know where you can shove your deal?"

Dean holds up a hand to stop him. "I don't 'bend over backwards'."

Sam makes a frustrated noise in his throat. "Dean, didn't you just tell me not to—"

"Shut up, Sam."

Crowley rolls his eyes: honestly, the pair of them are like Heckle and Jeckle when they're working together, and when they're not, they're like Dimwit Dog and that imbecile who Wikes Wabbits. He clears his throat. "Deals expiring in three... two..."

They stop talking a second too late. "That wasn't even a minute!" Dean protests.

"Well I don't get much face time, now do I? Not to worry, lads. Dean can still blow me for the information."

Dean regards him blankly for a moment, before launching into "Are you serious?" and, without waiting for Crowley to respond, turning to his brother. "Is he serious?"

Sam shifts on his feet. "Dean... I think he is."

Dean considers them both with increasing suspicion. After a pregnant moment, Sam blurts out, "Don't tell me you're actually thinking about it! Dean, you said it yourself: he's a demon! You can't just—"

Dean cuts him off again. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do anymore, Sam."

Crowley grins. "So you'll blow me, then?"

Dean blinks, tries valiantly to recover the situation. "No. That's—you're insane," he says hesitantly. Then he clarifies with more certainty: "I don't blow guys, and even if I did, there's no way I'm getting freaky with anything that's got fangs—or, or claws, or a friggin meatsuit."

Sam flares his nostrils. "Didn't seem to have a problem with Benny."

Crowley has to take control of the situation, yet again. "You sure about that, Squirrel?" 

Dean glances at him, loathing with an undercurrent of mistrust. His vulnerability is downright erotic.

Crowley smirks. "I'm well-endowed, as they say."

Dean blinks, mouth going soft like he's been caught out. But his brother ruins the moment with a skeptical, "Really."

Crowley's getting tired of Baby Winchester and his overconfident rubbish. Crowley's dick is enormous, thanks much—after all, he sold his soul to elongate it (what? They didn't have daytime television) and he was big to begin with—Moose may be mammoth-sized, but Crowley says he's too prissy to be packing. And Crowley's seldom wrong.

His gaze locks with Sam's.

Then Dean speaks up again. "You're wrong, by the way. I'm not so petty about Sam's former love interests that I'd want an innocent girl to die. And Sam and I? We're fine." As if to prove it, he walks up to his brother, gets up on his toes, and kisses him, all tenderness and soft lips, tucking a strand of hair behind Sam's ear.

Sam takes a moment to register what's happening—his hands look big and awkward, and then he wraps them around Dean's back, returning the kiss and then some. Even after they pull their tongues out of each other's throats, they spend a long moment with their noses pressed together, kissing, Sam holding Dean close, Dean running his fingers through the back of Sam's mane.

"Jesus Christ," Crowley mutters.

"And, I respect myself," Dean asserts finally. He's addressing Crowley but he's looking Sam dead in the eyes from about an inch away. "I chose who I wanted to be with a long time ago, and I stuck to my choice. And that's more than most people can say."

Sam blinks. Dean turns to Crowley.

"If I keep the light on, it's because I know what I want."

And with that, he makes his exit.

Crowley might be in love.

Dean's bluffing, of course, about the self-respect part, but the boy's not much for soul-searching, so Crowley figures it's a start.

After a moment of thought, he realizes Sam is still standing there awkwardly.

Sam, whose tainted, incestuous blood now mingles with Crowley's like a curse.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"He's mine," Sam says, as if that point were still up for debate.

Crowley keeps his expression neutral. "I know."

Moose frowns, trying to puzzle out this new development.

From his seated position, Crowley has a clear enough view of Sam's erection, fading after the kiss. As it turns out, Gigantor is actually... well, gigantic.

Sam eventually sees him looking, and flashes that haughty smirk again, then follows his brother out, closing Crowley in the dark.

"I'd watch you get nailed, love, but not by him," he says to Dean, who's no longer in the room.

And, because he's a self-loathing bastard, he's hard too at the thought. Boy, if things were different, he'd bend Dean over this table himself and make him cry out with pleasure. He pulls on the chains, but he can't reach his own crotch.

"Bollocks," he says to himself.

 

 


End file.
